Sometimes the blank screen is what I need. Today is one of those days. The blank screen gives me a place to pour out everything that shouldn’t be said out loud. But if I don’t put those things somewhere, then they start to eat away at me. Like they have been doing for a long time and I just haven’t wanted to admit.
I’m using the blank screen today because my feelings are becoming too much. I don’t even think they’re my feelings, they’re just feelings that will not go away, no matter how hard I try to ignore them.
I feel everything and nothing all at once. I feel anger, unparalleled, unbridled anger. I feel shame about my anger, and then guilt. I feel sadness, ineptitude, regret. Grief and pain and self-loathing. I feel fury towards my inability to achieve things, then I despair at my insulated thinking.
The daily battle I fight with myself, to try and not think this way, to not feel as truly fucking pointless as I do right now, is hard. I am furious at myself for not being strong enough, or confident enough, or competent enough, to just fucking be enough. Not even enough for a job, a role, another person, but enough for myself.
I detest the thought of leaving this mortal coil having not done everything. Irrational and a completely unrealistic expectation, but it grates on my very soul that I will never see, do, or experience all the things this incredible world has to offer.
It haunts me, the idea that my existence is somehow futile, that I will leave this earth having made no purposeful, valuable contribution to it. Then I tell myself that to think like this must be some sort of deep-seated arrogance; to consider myself important enough to do something globally noteworthy is fucking laughable. What delusions of importance, how vain.
And yet, I want to matter. Arrogant or not, I feel sadness at the fact I am now 35 and, like, what am I for? What do I do? What is my purpose? I stand atop a shit-heap of emotional turmoil, attempting to keep smiling at everyone as I sink down into it, like the horse that broke my heart as a child watching The Neverending Story.
Is there something wrong with me? Why do anger, fear and self-loathing follow me around no matter how hard I try to detach from them? Does everyone feel like this?
Comparison is the thief of joy, and yet I compare myself to no one but the near-impossible ideals I set for myself at some point in my formative years. Every day I’ve spent since has been spent tormenting myself with the things I haven’t done, haven’t achieved, cannot do.
I do try to stop and think about the positives, but it’s hard. It’s really hard to view yourself positively in this world as it is, but when you feel this sort of black hole of discontent within yourself, for whatever reason, it’s nigh on impossible.
Am I devoid of positive feelings? Or just a void? Am I one of those godawful toxic people who suck the life out of everyone and everything because they cannot be happy within themselves? Fuck, I hope that’s not the case.
Maybe I don’t just use the blank screen. Maybe I am the blank screen.
It pains me to even commit this to virtual paper, but as I do so I can feel some of the chains around my heart snapping. That sounds dramatic, but living with all these feelings each day gives me that exact sensation. A set of chains, tightening around my heart, clamping it down and stopping it from beating normally.
I want to live my life to a normal beat.
I don’t want to keep fumbling through each day, week, month, dancing sadly to the rhythm of a chained up heartbeat. I want to feel happy again. I can’t remember what happy is like. I miss happy.
I will almost certainly delete this post soon because I never, ever, want my child to read it and think that I was a dreadful person who resented her life all the time. But the human being in me needs to get this out, for the time being. We all have our bad days, and this is one of mine.
The blank screen helps, but it fucking hurts to use it.